Breaching from the horizon’s fringe a towering ball of yellow rose. The grand aureole radiated a waking light whose blessed rays fell atop woodlands and mountain peaks alike calling for the stirring life of morning’s brace. The cosmic presence basked the lethargic planet in a tidal warmth, the sweeping comfort reached further and further as the stellar onlooker rose higher through the sky. The blanket of light refracted along the unassuming atmosphere coating the heavens in a colorful performance of red and purple.

Through a dusty pane of hollow glass, the celestial ball licked in and brushed against the soft cheeks of a sleeping beauty. Her comely brown eyes opened peering through her flaxen hair to catch sight of the still slumbering man resting next to her. An ineffable warmth pooled into her heart as she once again for another morning took in his small nose that tilted ever so slightly to the upper left, his chiseled chin whose bourgeoning beard prickled taut against the soft pillow they shared. His brows scrunched near in deep heed of a dreaming felicity. She could feel the shallow exhales escape his nostrils and press gently against her own lips so dearly close to her partner. Her breath and his mixed together in that unforgivable space between them, so small yet so unacceptable to her besotted soul.

They shared form under the quilts that buried them, through entwined harmony they wrapped around each other as one. His sleeping glamor was an intoxicating cajolery for rest, sadly the day star was calling and so she must rise. With a downcast hesitance she disentangled herself from his warm embrace slipping out of their shared covers and rising to her feet. In the confined space of the bedroom the lady was nearly cocooned in the thick wrappings of many auburn sleeves each encircling the woman to the point she could not be seen through.

The lady groggily trudged her way out the door making her way outside of the cottage where she finally had room to stretch her still sleepy limbs awake. Outside, those enshrouding sleeves each unfurled stretching out as wide as they could revealing eleven pairs of spotted wings each comprised of thick feathers, her encircling wingspan reached near the size of the one-story house she stood afront. No longer obscured, the woman was unveiled to the world around. She held the thin frame of a tall woman, her nude form showcased her impossibly clean skin exempt of blemishes, her shape a caricature of the thin waist and wide curved hips seen in drawings made her appear more as a facsimile of a human rather than a real possible being. There were a pair of wings hiding behind the woman’s ears and poking from her curt shoulder length hair that were only large enough to wrap over her own head, while two thin wings shot up from either shoulder blade half her height into the air before widening to thick muscular curtains of feathers. Further down sprouting out of her bare spine were five pairs of gargantuan wings which flared out like a bronze corona. From base to tip each wing was as long as one and half times her arm length and together they granted her a hulking silhouette. Just a quarter length down from either hand, a thick bone protruded out of her arm leading to long and thin wings. By the woman’s curving hips another pair of wings rested like the ones on her shoulder blades except pointing down and only as long as a single forearm each. Finally, a tiny pair of wings grew out of both of her ankles only slightly larger than her own dainty feet.

Along with her wings the lady stretched her arms and legs as much as possible. She wouldn’t shed a bed with him for anything, but it did come with the caveat of dealing with human construction which was always so restrictive. Finding herself more awake in the basking glory of the day star she felt her energy renew as she admired the scenery around her. Not the roaming clouds and sinking mountains of the divine realm but instead the open plains dotted with alluvial rivers hailing from the Sodality of Rain. The plains seemed to expand outwards endlessly only breaking form for the channels and pools of the dynamically morphing waterflows. A euphoric smile shone from her face and she released a blissful sigh. The serenity of this calming land alone with the man she loved was a prodigious blessing.

She hiccupped a light gasp as a warm pair of calloused hands pressed against her stomach. “Up already?” the man’s baritone voice softly danced next to her ears, he hugged her dearly resting his head upon her shoulders, the bristle of his chin hairs tickling her ever so slightly.

“I wanted to see the rising dawn, it’s always so beautiful here in the sodality.” She replied to him. Her voice was soft and wispy almost unpracticed, not used to being put in use. Her voice came out as less than a whisper and if not having been habituated to her quiet dialect even in his embrace he wouldn’t have been able to hear her.

“It is a beautiful sight.” She turned to face the man seeing that his piercing brown eyes stared not at the wonderous horizon but right back at her. A warm flush rose to her cheeks and soon she too lost herself in his gaze. She tilted her head back rising her head wings up and out of the way so that she could press her lips against his. They held themselves together as such knitted in fervent passion. The man released his embrace and backed away from her. “How did you sleep Tartuffe? Have you gotten any more used to the bed?”

His words a reminder of trials endured drew her to rub her neck craning it in hopes of alleviating any persisting kinks. “As I keep saying, your human beds are comfortable, but my wings are always soar by morning. They’re not meant to be slept on like that for so long.” With one final stretch Tartuffe pushed all of her wings as far from her body as possible each shaking in exertion before returning them back to idly resting by her side.

The man took a few steps away from her to allow her heavy limbs the room to do as needed while he replied to her, surprise coating his voice. “Really? Even with the larger bed and roof? You know you can flap your wings a little, I’m a heavy sleeper.”

His consideration put a smile on her face even if it had no value within itself. “There’s no room for me to flap my wings in there, but even if there was, I think you are greatly underestimating how loud they can be. Besides, I wouldn’t want to accidentally strike you with them in my sleep.” She chuckled at the thought of waking her man with the thunderous beating of her wings only for him to be returned back to slumber by the wild swing of a rogue wing clubbing him across the head. It was a comedic thing to imagine in one’s head but a terrifying possibility she would thoroughly like to avoid.

The man too chuckled at the thought of an unbecoming death by a lover’s dozing thrashings “I guess that probably wouldn’t be great would it?”

“It would not.” Tartuffe turned her back to the horizon to face the well-built man. A lazily dressed pair of pants sagged at his hips, his chest was left bare leaving his firm muscles to bulge against his tanned skin. His wide shoulders and powerful muscles made him quite the large human, a powerful presence for anyone, though with the added size of her wings he still felt like a delicate vase to her.

“Well, since I’m up I was going to make us some breakfast. I was thinking omelets, do you want one of mine or one of yours?” The man stifled a languid yawn as he spoke. He had never been much of a morning person; Tartuffe was honestly surprised he was even up at this time. Usually, she had already made breakfast before he even awoke, but if he was offering to cook she would gladly accept.

“One of mine of course. No matter how hard you try my dear Swain, I will never understand your odd human taste.” Tartuffe stuck her tongue out giving him the best grimace she could fake through her cheery disposition.

Swain shot her back with his own faux astonishment. “My tastebuds are strange!? You’re the one that is going be eating mother on daughter!”

“I don’t see anything wrong with that, it’s delicious. Chicken on egg is one of the best delicacies a woman can ask for.”

Swain jokingly shook his head in disapproval “A delicacy she says, you’re making my chefs heart ache, why don’t you try some onion and cheese on the omelet; ooh maybe some roasted asparagus on there as well, yeah that sounds nice.” Swain licked his lips at the thought of the delicious breakfast he was planning for himself.

This time Tartuffe didn’t have to fake the grimace as it naturally contorted her face at the disgusting thought of anything remotely green being added to her meal. “Eww gross. Not a chance. For my toppings I just need some chicken, sausage… do we have any bacon left?”

“We do.” Swain begrudgingly answered as his inner gourmet quivered at her demands.

Undeterred by her lover’s disgust Tartuffe continue with her order. “Some bacon then, porkchop and some dried cured ham to top it all off. Mmmm now that is a real omelet.”

He hadn’t even started cooking the meal yet and his stomach was turning at the supposed meal to be. “How I fell in love with someone who has such barbaric tastes I will never know but Suit yourself.”

Swain’s hyperbolized disgust for her eating habits only acted as encouraging entertainment to her teasing. “You think the omelet is bad; you would hate what we ate in the divine realm.”

Swain paled at the mere thought of what an entire society of these meat obsessed carnivores would eat. “Oh no, what was it? What did you eat?” Tartuffe’s cheerful smile dropped at the question; she wasn’t actually expecting him to ask what they ate. She mumbled a response but this time her voice was far too shallow for even Swain’s sensitive ears to pick up. “Sorry I didn’t catch that.” He walked closer to her tilting his head so that his ear was right next to her mouth.

She leaned forward so close that her lips physically pressed against his ears. “…I love you.” She nibbled on his ear a little tugging at the loose cartilage. Swain released a jolted grumble at the sudden pain. Swain’s cute cry of displeasure put a grin on Tartuffe’s face, and she gave him an apologetic kiss on the reddened injury whose bite marks still lay imprinted onto. “Now why don’t we go make those omelets together.”

Without waiting for a response, Tartuffe took the lead skipping over towards the kitchen. Each bound of her skip was accented by the delicate sway of her wings granting her much more air than her leg strength would suggest which gave her movement a floaty ephemeral quality to it. The two shared an outdoor kitchen with each implement, as a human would feel, being a preposterous distance from one another; the open space allowed Tartuffe to cook without being overly concerned about having her wings accidentally damaging or knocking against anything. Though even in the open air her feathers still left their interruptive mark. Remnants of her last cooking escapade was left strewn across the grass. Massive lone feathers were a mess throughout the entire kitchen area, she had been too tired to clean up after herself the last time she cooked so now she had to clean up for her past deeds.

She was much faster than her partner and by the time he too arrived at the kitchen nearly out of breath she had already finished tidying the feathers. She tossed the feathers into one of the many piles off to the side left for her to craft with later. Swain folded over holding on to his legs for support dragging deep breaths of air.

The two of them had been working tirelessly towards constructing a home that could accommodate both of their requirements, but their current efforts seemed to have comically led to a worst of both worlds scenario where the weakest aspects of eithers cultures and design surfaced far more than the benefits. It was a flaw for sure and they still had a lot of work out before either could satisfactorily claim this place to be their true home; regardless, seeing Swain struggle for breath so much Tartuffe couldn’t help but tease. “You seem out of breath.”

Swain held up a finger asking for Tartuffe to wait a few more seconds for him to wheeze a couple draining breaths of much needed air filtration. “Human… lungs…suck.”

Tartuffe burst into laughter. “I’d say. Why don’t you just sit and rest? I can make us the omelets.”

Swain waved his arms in rejection. “No, no I’ll be over to help in a second, I just need to catch my breath first.”

His eagerness to join her in the kitchen gave her a silent comfort but his pained expression made her wince. “Note to self, remodeling kitchen takes priority.”

Before they began to cook Tartuffe grabbed the apron that Swain had made for her. It was a simple brown quilt with a large pink heart sewn to its center and a small string that wrapped around the head. It was a simple thing, yet it was still one of her favorite gifts. Clothes were an admired luxury for her, she never really wore clothes since it was usually such a complicated affair given all her wings, but the apron was just a single knot around the neck, like an oversized necklace. Having put the apron on, she couldn’t help but spin in place displaying her dress to Swain. He gave her a complementary whistle causing her to blush with embarrassment. In all honesty anyone would agree that it was quite an ugly apron, but he had been the first person to ever try and give her clothes. At least the first since her wings had gotten out of hand.

Once Swain had recollected himself they began constructing their omelets together. Well, it was less of a cooperative venture in making breakfast and more of a combative competition of who can make the better omelets where the winner was less the better cook but rather the superior saboteur. It had started as a peaceful enough day but as soon as Swain made fun of Tartuffe for accidentally dropping some shell into the pan when cracking the egg then it was all out war. Tartuffe retaliated by constantly snuffing out Swain’s fire so he in turned started sneaking vegetables into Tartuffe’s omelet. Now that was an offence too far! She had no choice but to make her displeasure known by cracking a new egg directly onto his head. Any idea of making omelets had been far forgotten in the midst of this brutal food fight where no pantry was safe.

Egg, grapes, flour, tomatoes, the kitchen had been butchered. The couple was collapsed onto the soaked grass both covered in every manner of juices and substances. They had long since reached a point where they were more omelet than the empty pans over the fires. It was silent for a while, the fires were snuffed out, the tired couple no longer shouting, food no longer squashing, wind no longer howling. The two lay down in complete silence until finally it was broken by Swain’s questioning voice. “So whose omelet was better?”

The two bursts into a rapturous laughter, both of them collapsed on the complete chaos; their terrible makeshift kitchen was destroyed thankfully beyond repair and they had run through all of their food supplies. It was a calamitous disaster, and they couldn’t be happier. It was such a perfect day and not even the gathering rain clouds could say otherwise. A spontaneous downpour bombarded down wiping any hint of their playful war. The rains of the Sodality of Rain were as expected always incredibly dense. The rain poured so intensely that the entire ground was encased in a shallow layer of water, the couple could barely see each other just a few paces away since the rain was so thick. Tartuffe curved her wings overhead like a protective barrier and made her way over to Swain to protect him under her feathery abode.

They both sat in each other’s embrace watching the flash flood run its course. They didn’t speak throughout the whole storm merely bathing in each other’s company; they wouldn’t have been able to hear each other over the thunderous rain anyhow.

Finally, the flash flood ended, and the clouds parted along with the chime of a bell. Tartuffe parted her wings allowing the day star to warm their chilled bodies as they looked on to the space in front of them. A small pink rhombus grew out of thin air, or it was a rhombus, but its body would reject any stable state. It would shift and transform, shrink and grow, continuously morphing into other shapes. The pink shape finally locked into a form resembling that of a featureless human with only one limb. The arm was outstretched towards the couple holding a glowing parchment: It read.

You have been invited to The Tournament You are The Angel